Terminus
by AntoinetteGoodwitt
Summary: The end of days is upon us, we're thrown into a world of chaos and rebirth. How well can we take on this new world? Zombie apocalypse: James Wilson, Aleksandr Marchant, Joe and Trevor from cow chop This will be a reader insert. reader will not be introduced until later. Who the reader will be paired with is undecided still, it's between Immortalhd and uberhaxornova from cow chop.
1. We're fucked aren't we?

"FUCK!"

The man behind the steering wheel struggles to keep the speeding batter SUV on the road with out clipping another jack-knifed semi or cluster of dead things milling about the edges of the asphalt. His voice is hoarse from all the screaming. Every muscle feels like it's been set a blaze. The blood from the gash on the right side of his scalp has made its way into his eye.

"Just hold on Joe, we just need to get clear of these fucking assholes!"

"I-I don't know James… I'm not feelin' so good.."

The smaller man in the back seat replied leaning his head against the broken rear-window as the car passes another cluster of dark shambling figures fighting over something dark and wet. The cold seeping air tosses his long blood matted hair.

"Sun's almost up, just hang in there. We'll find some help!"

James' large gnarled hands grip the steering wheel tighter, making his knuckles go ashen white. His broad shoulders- still clad in the same black battle tattered hoodie- hunch over the dash. The soft blue light illuminates his pill shaped face hidden under an ill attended wild beard, his nose is large and slightly c-curved while a little wider at the end. His dark deep set and up-turned eyes focus on the road ahead as best they can before they quick glance up into the hairline cracked rear-view mirror.

"Trevor?"

He scans the shadows of the backseat, studying the other twenty-something young man slumped in the opposing seat from the broken window.

"Trevor? Talk to me, how are you holding up man?" He says sternly.

The boyish face of Trevor becomes visible for the briefest of moments as they pass the distant orange glow of a fire- its either a farm or some small survivor community- all of it going up in flames- a mile long conflagration that spews black ash into the air like snowflakes in a flurry. The boy looks panicked, his normally disinterested half lidded eyes are now wide open, glazed, staring off into nothing -lost in the after glow of what James has no doubt is result of the shock and horror at the events that have just transpired. His hands are held high and close to his chest, his legs are folded inward close to his body. It looks as if Trevor has instinctually tried to make his normally lumbering frame as small as possible as some sort defense mechanism.

Then all at once he blinks his eyes into focus and convulses, lurching forward to tightly grip Aleks' chair. The sudden motion causes Aleks to flinch away from his seat bracing himself for the outburst that's sure to follow.

"F-fuck! Their all fucking dead aren't they?! We're next man! We're just as fucked aren't we?!"

The car goes silent. Aleks find himself trying to find the right words to say but the tense air clouds any rational thought. Displeased with the lack of confirmation or dispute Trevor bellows again

" **AREN'T WE?!** "

He grabs a hold of Aleks' shoulder forcing the tattooed Russian to look him in the eye. Like a deer in head lights he's too shocked to speak.

" **SHUT THE FUCK UP!** "

James' own hand comes crashing down on Trevor's yanking it off him and throwing it to the side harshly. Once again the car is silent. Trevor sinks into his seat glaring at the man in the mirror, while Aleks looks to him searching for some unspoken answer- at this point he's unsure if the young mans rambling is that all that far from the truth. The air feels dense and heavy- the reality of what could be looms over them.

Through the gore smudged windshield James focuses on the rushing white lines of the leprous asphalt. Mile, after mile of the wreckage-strewn road churning under them- it's a never ending landscape of a desolate rural and decaying wasteland. Skeletal trees on either side of the highway blur in curly haired man's burning teary gaze. His ribs pang with pain intermittently with each twist of his midsection, taking his breath away- a fracture maybe, maybe worse, his wound sustained in the tumultuous attack from raiders in what was once a small town him and his boys had be lucky enough come by.

He's assuming Trevor's right- that the towns people and raiders all perished in this same vast mob of dead things that had wrought havoc, barreling through barricades, burrowing into homes and buildings like swarm of locusts- eviscerating the innocent and guilty alike. The silence remains a moment longer, the white noise of the wind and the drumming of the tires provides a hypnotic soundtrack to their misery. For one final time he looks into the same mirror peering at the two haggard young men in the back seat. With a shaky long breath he finds his voice again.

"You don't know that, we **_could_** survive. We **_have_ ** survived, I'm not gonna just give up. I refuse to accept that. If there a chance I can get us through this- ** _I will_**."

It's become too dark for James to read the expression on the kids face. He turns to look back at him and open his mouth to speak, but a noise forces him to look back the road. All for men let out a scream as a battalion of figures come into view. They're directly in the vehicle's on coming path. James tries swerve out of the way but there's just too many.


	2. Hell of a shortcut

What's the worse part about hitting a group of walkers at high speeds? The sound. Its undeniable that witnessing the rotten gore splash across the windshield is horrible in itself, not to mention the stench that engulfs everything- but it's the noise that lives on in memory. A series of dull thunks- greasy crunching sound that brings to mind of an axe through wet, termite infested wood. The symphony of 'pops' and cracks as the dead are grounded into a fine paste under the wheels- mortified organs and bladders- squashed. Bones crushed in to kindling. Skulls bursting open, splatteingr it's contents onto the ground like some sick demented Jackson Pollock- signifying an end to every hellish monster's pilgrimage.

With great yelps of shock and revulsion the boys hold onto what they can as the SUV bucks and fish-tails across the slimy detritus. Most of the unsuspecting cadavers go down like dominoes, pulverized by the three tons of Detroit metal. Excess of flesh and appendages tumble over the hood, leaving rancid blood trails behind in their wake- some parts even careen into the air pinwheeling into the distant night sky.

James remains silent and hunched, jaw set, eyes fixed to the road. Muscle bound arms wrestle with the steering wheel as the massive vehicle goes into a skid. The engine revs as it reacts to the loss of traction the squeal of the huge steel belted radials adding to the din. James is yanking the wheel back the other way turning into the skid as best he can, trying to avoid spinning out of control, when he notices that something has gotten lodged in the gapping hole of his window.

"Watch out!"

It's the disembodied head of some walker, only inches away from his left ear. Registering in a single instant the reanimated cranium was torn from its torso upon impact. It's rictus face chattering softly. Some how it's gotten caught on the jagged maw of broken glass. Gnashing it's blackened incisors at him, like the hollow autonomic force of a ventriloquists dummy- it's eyeless sockets fixed on him. The panic quickly rises through him, the scream had come from the flickering darkness of the backseats and in all the excitement James can't identify the Source- wether it's Joe or Trevor- the issue is moot. Essentially the panicked man at the wheel mistakes the meaning of the cry.

His hand fishes through the contents of the center console, rifling through maps and candy wrappers, frantically searching for his trusted 9-millimeter pistol- until finally his hand wraps around the grip of the glock. With one fluid motion toward the widow he squeezes a single point blank round into the brow of the grotesque head. It comes apart in blossom of pink mist- splitting melon like- sending a splatter into James' hair before being launched out onto the road behind them.

The broken window throbs noisily. Less than 10 ten seconds have transpired since the initial impact but now James sees the true reason for the warning. What they were screaming about back there- the thing that James is supposed to look out for- is now looming on the opposite side of highway and coming up quick on there right as they continue to skid out of control. He feels the gravity shift as he swerves in order to avoid the mangled wreckage of a VW bug then scuds across the gravel shoulder of the road plunging down a steep ledge, into the unknown of a wooded grove. Foliage scrapes and slap the windshield as the Escalade bangs and clamors down the rocky slope.

The voices in the back rises into frenzied ululations. The land levels out and he manages to keep control long enough to find purchase in the mud. Slamming down the accelerator it lurches forward under its own power. The massive grille and tires grind through thickets, and deadfalls, mowing through wild undergrowth like it were smoke. For seemingly minutes, the bumpy ride threatens to compress James spine and rewaken an old injury. In the blurry image of the rear view mirror he gets a brief glimpse of the two young men holding onto the seat-backs in fear of being thrown out of the vehicle. The front end hits a log, nearly cracking Aleks' molars as his chin hits the dash board hard.

"SHIT."

The poor Russian is left to clutch his jaw with one hand as the other holds on for dear life. For another minute they careen willy-nilly through the trees. When they burst through the brush in an explosion of dirt and leaves, James sees they inadvertently come upon and another two lane road. He slams the brakes causing the two men in the back to head-butt the seat-backs, while Aleks reflexively holds his arms out, unwilling to partake in a repeat incident.

James sits there for a second, taking a deep breath, getting the air back into his lungs. He looks to men in the car as they collectively let out moans, making sure he hadn't lost any of them in the madness.

"Well.." he starts softly as they settle back into their seats. "That's one hell of a way to take a short-cut."


End file.
